The Skeleton on the Lawn

Backstory:  My brother and sister and I grew up on a very quiet street next to the ocean with essentially no neighbors.  Every Halloween, we would buy candy and wait for the trick-or-treaters and every year we would have to eat all the candy ourselves because no one ever came to the house.

After a while, my parents just turned the lights off and took us to my aunt’s neighborhood to trick-or-treat.  Our family house was useless, as far as Halloween festivities were concerned.  I think, in the course of my two decades living at home, I saw only three trick-or-treaters come to our house.  Pathetic.

Cruise about 20 years forward to my brother owning his very own house in a nice neighborhood populated with Real People.  Several decades of oppressed Halloween hauntings have bubbled up for Darrell, and he’s taking it all out on his lawn.  As exemplified here:

Darrell's yard.
He bought two fog machines, for crying out loud. Gravestones and skeleton bones littered the lawn, playing host to my brother, nephew, and step-father trolling around the yard as though there were on stage.  Occasionally, they posed for pictures.
My nutty little nephew.

My brother stood on his front lawn dressed as a ghoul (much like my nephew’s costume, pictured above), underneath a streetlight, and danced for the passing cars.  My mother laughed until she cried.  My stomach still hurts today from laughing.

After a long weekend of sadness, with the wake and the funeral and all the tears that come with those moments, it’s been very tough.   And while I have so many stories to tell about my Grammie, I’m too exhausted to try and find the words now.  I needed to laugh last night.  Hard.

Mission accomplished.

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